The Body

I don’t wash my car.

I don’t wash my car for two reasons.  One is, I think we waste far too much water on this planet.  The other is I don’t want my car to get the wrong idea.

This car needs to shape up a bit, see.  The other day as I was going around a corner, the door opened.  The drivers’ door.  The car was was trying to kill me.

To be fair, this is likely in retaliation for not changing the oil for the past 3 years.  I mean, sometimes I add oil.  But I haven’t changed it.  When would I have time to do that sort of thing?  Like, I’m a resident, working 90 hours a week and finally get a day off after 2 weeks and I say to myself, “I know, I’ll go straight away to get my oil changed.  Better yet, I’ll do it myself in the mud of the field while my children cry hopelessly in the background for want of time with Mommy.”

Please.

Also at one point the “alarm” wouldn’t shut off despite turning the key.  Which disabled the steering column, until we removed the fuse which supplies the alarm circuit.

Unfortunately said fuse also relates to the interior lighting.  And the clock.

But I like it that every time I get in my car it’s 12:00.  Adds an air of timelessness to my commute.  And it’s correct twice a day.

Sometimes when I turn to the right too quickly the horn spontaneously beeps.  Just to the right though.  So that’s fine.

Everything is manual in this car from the transmission to the windows to the locks to the seats to the defrost now that I can’t turn the defrost on without it emitting a high-pitched sound like a Doberman.  But I don’t mind that.

What I do mind is that after all this time together, my car suddenly quit.  First I thought it was just cold so I tried to start it again when it got warmer.  No go.  GB thought it could relate to the battery so he replaced it.  And added oil, because I was roughly 3 quarts low.  And power steering fluid. 

Then I noticed a hose that had broken off completely.  I ordered another and attached it.  Still no start.  Tried starter fluid.  Tried gas cleaner.  Nope.

And now I finally realize I’ve taken this little Jetta for granted.  Treated it like crap and expected it to fix itself.  And now I’m angry because I have to Figure Out how to Fix It.  Or Sell It.  Though the above might make a good ad.

People do this to their bodies all the time.  And then I’m supposed to fix it.  Hmmm.

Update: While driving 75 miles per hour down the freeway near Los Angeles, my car despaired of its unappreciated existence and flung from itself its rear wheel. The repair costs alone were estimated to be $1500, close to what this car was worth. It sits alone now, perhaps already deconstructed to its scrapyard bits, somewhere near 29 Palms, California.

We’re just a little bit lonelier now, the two of us. Wish we’d reconciled before it all had to end. What am I without my car? Like a spirit/soul flying suspended in time, no body, only air and light.

Or else someone who has to wake up 15 minutes earlier to ride her bike to work. One of those two things.